


Romance 101 for Non-Humans

by EmeraldAshes



Series: The Magnus Archives Oneshots [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bizarre Architecture, Comedy, Crack, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Helen Failing at Acting Human, Lovecraftian, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Polite Conversations with Inhuman Entities, Romantic Gestures, Stalker With a Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24835021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: The woman who became the Distortion was ill-prepared for her new role. Therefore, it was essential, Helen decided, to find common ground with herself.Fortunately, stalking Jonathan Sims was a shared hobby.(Spoilers through episode 115)
Relationships: Helen Richardson/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: The Magnus Archives Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804678
Comments: 11
Kudos: 84





	Romance 101 for Non-Humans

**Author's Note:**

> The thought process here was something along the lines of "The fandom has decided that Michael wants to kidnap Jon for sadistic sex games. Helen's courtship would be a lot more convoluted."

The woman who became the Distortion was ill-prepared for her new role. Therefore, it was essential, Helen decided, to find common ground with herself. 

Helen did not care for twisted worlds or broken minds. She did not revel in fear. In contrast, the Distortion did not care for petty entertainments or incomprehensible human relationships. And yet...they could agree on one thing. 

“I want to talk to Jon,” Helen murmured as another man wandered into her halls, door shutting softly behind him.

Jonathan Sims was kind.  _ He was interesting. _ He would know what to do.  _ The world shifted and changed beneath his feet while he lied to himself and pretended to understand. _ He was even handsome in a stiff-upper-lip sort of way.  _ There was something mouthwatering about the frightened, lost look in his eyes. _

For once in agreement, Helen opened the sickly yellow door in front of her and stepped into Jon’s office. It did not go as well as she might have hoped.

“Stop wearing the faces of people I know,” Jon growled.

She peered at him quizzically. “I cannot change my face, Archivist. I was not meant to be Helen, but I am.”

“Why are you here?” Power threaded his voice, and Helen shivered. She remembered that power, though it had been the gentlest tug then, hardly felt by her human self. She craved its catharsis.

She said. “I killed someone today, and I cannot help feeling guilty. It is...distracting. I hoped I could speak with you. Helen felt better when she spoke with you.”

“You should feel guilty.” 

She stared, unblinking. “I do not feel better.”

“Then  _ be  _ better. Stop. Killing. People.” Jon dismissed her, his jaw clenched and his eyes turned to a statement.

* * *

After some thought, Helen was in favor of this idea. Surely, she could lure the lost ones to her corridors without keeping them forever. The fear that flowed from a newly lost soul was so much more quenching than the dulled dread from one of her endless wanderers. And the dead no longer belonged to her anyway.

She would just have to bring fresh visitors to her halls more frequently. Simple enough since she had previously practiced real estate. Helen smiled, feeling much better. Yes, she decided, Jon was a good bridge between who she had been and what she was becoming.

She would need to see him more often. Unfortunately, based on his recent reaction to her presence, it was probably best if he did not see her. And so she peered through keyholes that were not there. She hovered in Magnus Institute hallways that Jon walked briskly past, though he had never passed them before. She crept into his office at night to listen to his tapes and smell the faint burning scent of an illicit cigarette -- a habit that he could not quit, though he often tried. Helen could sympathize.

Sometimes, she saw Jon asleep at his desk, crumpled atop it like a discarded piece of paper. Often, she would linger close to his sleeping form, ghosting a hand over his hair. Once, she brought a blanket from a nearby room and draped it over him.

That morning, Jon stared at the blanket when he woke up, brow furrowed, longing to  _ know _ . The door (the door that was always there) cracked open, and Martin said, “Jon, do you want some tea?”

“Did you..?” Jon gestured awkwardly at the blanket.

“N-no?” Martin squeaked out. It sounded like a lie.

“When did you go home last night?”

“Six?” That sounded slightly less like a lie, which was interesting since he was definitely fudging the numbers a bit.

“Right,” Jon said, another question heavy on his tongue. 

Martin fidgeted under his suspicious gaze. “Should I get that tea, then?”

“No thank you, Martin.”

* * *

There was a knock upon one of her doors. This was a first. Helen opened it with the vague approximation of a smile twisting her lips. “Yes?”

“Hello,” Elias Bouchard said with a similar expression. 

“Would you like to come in?” she asked. Helen had spat out her latest victim only hours before, but there was still a yawning hunger in her.

“I appreciate it, but this will be quick. Now, I don’t mean to pry,” Elias smoothly lied, “but I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve been stalking one of my employees.”

“Oh?”

Elias leaned against the doorframe. “Jonathan Sims is one of mine. You know how it is. I just want to make it clear that he’s under my protection.”

Helen felt a vague stirring, and a phrase drifted up from the murky depths of Before. “Is this a shovel talk?”

Elias paused, gears shifting in his head. “I suppose it is. Are you...courting him?”

She felt a small spark of excitement. “Yes. I think Helen would like that.” 

“Interesting,” Elias said lightly, stepping back from the doorway. “I look forward to seeing how you go about it.”

* * *

It was time to resume their relationship, Helen decided. Hopefully on more friendly footing this time. She creaked open a door into Jon’s flat, allowing him time plenty of time to grab a weapon. Hopefully it would reassure him. She called out, “Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked, eyes wild as he clutched a kitchen knife.

“I wanted to say hello,” Helen explained.

They stared at each other: Jonathan glaring, the Distortion’s gaze blank. He finally said, “Is that all?”

Helen nodded, retreating back into the door.

* * *

Helen had dated a few men in the past, but that was Before. She couldn’t remember their faces, let alone the details of their courtship. She pondered this as she lured William and Anna Taylor into her lair. 

Anna was the first through the door. “The neighborhood seems nice.”

There was a familiar rhythm to this, and Helen fell into it, only slightly off-beat. “It is. The schools are very good.”

“Not too far from my office,” William added. “Or yours, I don’t think.”

“Maybe half an hour?” Anna guessed. 

“It’s an older home, so it’s not open concept,” Helen began, leading them through a galley kitchen where the cabinets liked to creak open behind you and snap shut as soon as you turned around.

“That’s...odd,” Anna remarked.

“Old homes,” Helen said serenely. “You two are newlyweds?”

They shared a fond look, and William replied, “Two years this March.”

“We met online. Got together for coffee and just hit it off.” Anna shivered as they weaved through the living area. The walls were close, the ceilings low. “It’s a little cold in here -- and cramped. Don’t you think, Will?”

“Cozy.” Helen gently corrected, ushering them onward. “You’re in love?”

“Of course,” Anna said. William echoed her a few moments later.

Helen resisted the urge to sow doubt. Perhaps later. “How did you court each other?”

The woman shot her husband a confused look, eyebrow raised, before slowly answering, “Well, we went to a lot of movies, I guess. And Will used to bring me little gifts to show he’d been thinking about me...You know, this place is a lot  _ bigger _ than I thought.”

“Plenty of room to raise a family,” Helen said lightly, gesturing them inside the master suite.

Anna shrieked, the sound dampened and swallowed by the curling walls. “OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?”

William merely stared, fingers twitching, vomit caught in his throat.

Helen felt her claws come out. “It’s original to the house. I think it adds charm.”

* * *

“You again,” Jon said. “I suppose it’s no trouble that I traveled to another continent?”

“No,” Helen said. “I brought you a gift. To show that I’ve been thinking about you.”

“A gift.”

She handed it to him, explaining, “It is an encyclopedia. I thought you might like it since you eat knowledge.”

“That’s very, err, thoughtful of you. I’m afraid that’s not quite how it works, though. I eat normal food, and I believe the Eye prefers secrets over facts.”

Helen smiled, revealing all her teeth and more. “That’s easy. I can get you those.”

“You really don’t have to” -- Jon’s shoulders slumped as she disappeared. -- “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. How much damage can she do?”

* * *

“I brought you secrets,” Helen told him a few days later.

“I’m driving!” 

“You are,” she acknowledged. 

“You can’t just step into my car while it’s in motion,” he insisted, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Helen could indeed step into his car while it was in motion. She had just done so a few moments prior. It seemed a silly thing to argue about, however. Instead, she chose to present her gifts. “Singer-songwriter Sarah Bellevue is pregnant. She does not know who the father is, though she pretends that it is her husband. I also have a list of Parliament members who do not wash their hands after using the restroom.”

“I’m a researcher, not the Daily Mail,” Jon said, eyes firmly on the road ahead.

“So you do not want to know more?”

“...I do have a few follow-up questions.”

* * *

Martin Blackwood was lost. This was unusual because he was only walking to the kitchen to fill up the kettle, and the Archives are rather cramped. It was not entirely unexpected, however, because it turned out that interacting with Lovecraftian horrors was his dayjob.

“Jon?” Martin took a left, then another, then another, then somehow ended up on the ceiling? 

“Tim? Basira? Melanie?” He was not fond of all the mirrors or what was in the mirrors. That wasn’t even counting his own reflection, which he had always been a bit iffy on.

“Anyone?” Martin called out, knowing full well that this was the part where the monster showed up. Fortunately, today’s monster didn’t look particularly murderous, so that was a nice start. 

A mostly ordinary looking woman (if you ignored all the twisted bits) sat primly at a table that stretched farther than he could see. She pulled her lips into a small smile and curved her eyes. “I’m Helen.”

“Martin,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well. Sit,” she said.

Martin sat in a chair that was not there a moment before. “Erm, you wouldn’t happen to be the Helen who was taken by the Distortion, would you?”

“Yes,” Helen said. “Mostly.”

“Cool,” Martin mumbled. After a long silence, he said, “Do you want to kill me or…?”

Helen considered this question. “You’re in love with Jonathan Sims.”

“What?” Martin squeaked. “No! I mean, maybe I was. A little. For a while. But it’s mostly just that he really seems like he needs a friend and then he got hurt and then got hurt again and then he got kidnapped and the point is: I just don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone who needs a hug more and is less likely to accept one.”

“I don’t think I will kill you,” Helen decided.

“Thank you?” Martin ventured.

“You’re welcome.”

After another long pause, Martin said, “I don’t suppose you could show me the way out of here?”

Helen gestured back the way he had come. “Down the hall. First door on your left.”

* * *

“Just to be clear,” Jon said at their next meeting, back in the familiar surroundings of his office at the Magnus Institute. “The celebrity gossip doesn’t actually feed my need for information as the Archivist. It needs to be more personal than that. A confession of sorts. A statement.”

“I see,” Helen said, slipping into the visitor’s chair. “I can give you another statement. There’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Alright,” Jon said with a hint of suspicion. He pulled an already-running tape recorder from his pocket. “Statement of the creature that was once Helen Richardson, aka The Distortion, regarding...something she would like to tell me. Statement begins.”

Helen felt the fierce tug of his words, and she let it pull her along. “Helen was lost for a long time. Perhaps we all are, and others just hide it better than she did. She would find a place and for a moment she would feel utterly settled. Then it would fall apart, and once again, she would be stranded at sea. The only difference in the corridors is that there is no destination. There is only the journey and what you’ve left behind. 

“She had left very little behind, so she held onto the things that felt nearest. She remembered the spit of rain on her cheeks and the tug of the wind on her coat when she hurried inside the Magnus Institute. She remembered that a young man escorted her inside and offered to make her tea. The cup warmed her hand and the drink scalded her throat. It felt real. 

“Helen also remembered the Head Archivist, who called himself Jon. He had been good looking, young but with silver in his hair. He had been kind to her when she thought she might be mad. He had believed her. With time, she remembered him with more fondness than she might have if he had not been the last human being she would ever see.

“She walked and she walked for years, for centuries, perhaps forever. She left pieces of herself in every footprint. There was so little of her left over. 

“One day, she saw a door, and she knew what it was. She grasped the handle and pulled, and she felt herself become whole once again.

“Helen was not human anymore, but she had not been human for a long time. At least she knew where she was, and where she was going. She was going to bring Jonathan Sims home. He had been kind to her, and the way she felt when she looked at him made her feel like a person again.”

The Archive was quiet as she finished her statement.

“...A little long-winded,” Helen murmured, “but I blame your compulsion for that. I wanted to ask you out for coffee or tea or another beverage of your choice.”

“I’m not really interested in dating,” Jonathan explained.

Helen nodded. “Right.”

“And I’m very busy trying to, well, save the world, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Helen agreed. She continued to sit calmly in front of him and stare unflinchingly into his eyes. 

Jon sighed, pushing out of his chair. “One drink.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished Season 3 soooo, no spoilers, please?


End file.
